The Seismic Shock

The Seismic Shock
January 31, 2012.
Just after midnight.
(The devil loves the dark.)
The jolt was nor recorded
on any earth-bound
earthquake
monitoring device.
But it registered at close to a ten
or more
on my own personal ricter scale.

Pornography.
Such a fancy-shmancy word
for dispicable deeds.
Porn.
Much more appropriate a word.
A four-letter word
of the dirty deed type.

He was watching.
Moving porn.
He says he cannot remember what.
"2 people having sex.
Porn.
It's all the same."
He won't say more.
He says he dozed off
in the middle.
And that is suppose to be comforting?
I know he won't say
because he's hiding
to protect himself.
That's what he does.
"Gay porn," the whispers speak to my mind.
And I cannot conot compete.
Not that I could with any sort,
anyway.

The seismic shock that hit,
when I saw what he was trying to
 hide,
knocked down every part of me...
...but one.
My FAITH stands
still.
Other faceades
only a few walls
still sway
in after-shocks that hit
nearly every day.

There is no part of me
left steady standing;
But the construct of FAITH.
Strong and firm, steady and still
             stands apart.

Upon closer inspection...
deeper pondering
I realize...
I come to understand.

This man should never have had the
                     POWER
to destroy me in far under an
hour.

I gave it him.
I trusted in the arm of the flesh.
I built most of me
on our marriage.

My FAITH, though,
built by inhuman hands,
supports and joists and all that important build-y stuff:
sunk deep into THE ROCK.

And so I see.
I need to rebuild me
with supports and joists and all that important build-y stuff
sunk deep in The Rock.

I thought I had,
honestly.
For, you see,
this is not my first
earthquake.

But apparently,
I did not sink deep enough
or connect profoundly enough
to The Rock
to be swayed, but not broken
by a seismic shock
of mega-proportions.

And the whispers urge me
to build more carefully.
I certainly intend to!
But just right now...
I'm just trying, right now...
to clean up the mess
of me
in my little nothing world.

For what he, my hubby,
and you
can't see
is the crumbled structures.
The shattered glass.
The brokeness
inside me.

He fusses, "Don't you see me trying?"
And I feel to hang my head
and whisper, "Just like every time
you do wrong... but it doesn't stick.
You don't KEEP trying."
But he wouldn't hear,
because he wouldn't want to hear.
Just like me.

You see...
we are one.

His deed now...
was my deed long ago.
He didn't care.
Wouldn't have cared.
But I still did wrong.
So now it's come back to me
in the most painful way possible
thus far.

And I wish
I had always been
a different me.
For then,
the one we are
would be different,
too.


POST-Post Note
I meant to share this immediately after the Shame post, but forgot.  Sorry.  I hope you appreciated it somehow.

Licking My Wounds, the Legion

This is another continuation post.  I know... it's getting old to not get the whole thing all at once.  This is the last one that is specifically part of the whole story of the Can in the Bag and all that jazz.  I highly recommend starting at the post in which I began to tell about this particular dead body and then mosy on over the the subsequent postS.

Perhaps this is the point!  Maybe my whole life I've been prepared to become Monster Girl!??  I mean, it's not been a bad thing.  Ever since I had the idea for FrankenMonster Marriage I knew I simply must be called Monster Girl here.  And I felt really quite liberated and powerful in a joyfully peaceful way.

But for weeks before knowing I needed to start this blog and become Monster Girl in my heart, I experienced pain more on than off.  And it has continued since, just not in the unmanageable and daily tearful way of the early days... before the empowerment of accepting my monsterness.  I literally cried every day for at least a week.  My poor kiddos. They tried so hard to do things to help me feel better.  They really are my gems!

It hurt so bad I wanted to hurt the outside of me to alleviate the inside pain.  I actually wanted to cut my hair off (bald) after pulling it out sufficiently.  I'm telling you what I wanted to do.  I didn't do it.  My hair is one of my few "pretty" physical attributes.  It is down to my butt, brown and is the only thing about my physical appearance that people ever compliment.  I'm really totally okay with that... it being the only thing peeps compliment... but it's also something about which I feel an attachment... I feel able to sort of hide in my hair.  And I just wanted to pull it out and cut it off to hurt me after I found my husband watching porn.

In addition to the hair pulling and cutting... I wanted to cut myself.  I've NEVER understood that behavior before.  I do now.  All I wanted to do was cut my skin and watch the blood roll down and hope that some of the pain inside would roll out of me with it.  Yes, I do realize this sorta really doesn't make any sense... but this is how I felt!!!  I didn't do, but I sure wanted to.

'Surely,' I thought and still feel, 'I'm hideous even with my hair.  Elsewise, he would not seek to view another naked woman instead of coming to me who lay a short walk down the hall.  Yes, I'm hideous.  My husband has proved it to me.  He would rather obtain an erection by watching another female than being with me.'  These and other horrible thoughts have run through my mind and tormented me as a result of finding my husband watchin porn.  Writing poetry about these feelings really helped.  I'm gunna share one next time.  I hope you like it a little.  It's raw me... not lovely, but really real.  And safe... cause I don't think cursing is helpful... it requires more energy and thought to describe in productive ways than to hurl curses regardless of the medium, in my opinion, anyway.

I still feel repulsive.  And we have had sex since all this went down.  I might, in a few moments during and/or immediately after the act, feel some bits of acceptance and attractiveness... but it goes away super fast.  I feel tremendous shame.  How could I not be enough for my man?  For surely, THAT is the problem.  I'm not enough.  I'm not pretty enough, sexy enough, smart enough, thin enough...  I'm not enough so he clicked into a movie to watch others have sex.  Never mind that I am totally available and waiting to have intercourse....

It's just too much.  There are all these thoughts and feelings and trying to express them doesn't convey the profound nature of the turmoil.  Words just fall short of capturing the essence and extent of how this has impacted my psyche.

I'll keep trying because I feel compelled to do so, but right now I need a break.  However, I do consider this the official end post to the Saga of the Cat and the Bag.  K?  I hope you feel some sense of completion herein.

REMEMBER:
If you know who I am, shhhh.  I need to live in anonymity.  Monster Girls like me prefer to hide in the dark because we are so very hideous.

Still Dealing With the Bagged Cat

This post is a continuation post.  If you want to totally understand what I'm talking about, read the first post first.  :)

Pick up from the point at which I knew he'd been lying for years and jump forward in time to not so long ago.  Certainly not long enough ago!

I found Beauty Man looking at porn.  I didn't clearly see what he was watching.  All I saw was a screen that looks like the end/stop pictures/ads at the end of a YouTube.  You know, the images that are all advertisements for the other YouTubes you might like if you liked the one you just finished watching.  The one image frozen in my mind is naked boobies about 10 times bigger than mine.  Yeah... real self-esteem boost that!  Especially knowing that my man considers himself a boob guy (who married a not-so-well-endowed Monster Girl!).

I feel the need to give you the blow-by-blow of that night.  I promised gorey details of this murder... so I'm gunna give 'em.

I woke up because of Beauty Baby (our youngest child).  I used the toilet.  I felt strange and Beauty Man wasn't in bed even though I knew he'd been home for a while.  It was after midnight.  He really should've been in bed.  He had work the next day.

I made my way down the hall to the rest of the house.  The door was closed between our bedroom hall and the rest of the house.  It is practically unheard of for this particular door to be closed.  But I can think of another time that it was closed a couple weeks before... instead of checking on him, I went to get some water from the kitchen first... but he was doing something to change what he was looking at and did so in a furative manner...  THAT is a huge clue.  Dumb trusting  Monster Girl.  :(

I opened the door fast.  There is weather stripping on the bottom of this door, so regardless of how you open the door, it's going to be noisy.  I immediately made my way to where Beauty Man sat.  I was carefully watching his hand on the mouse the whole time and he was obviously trying to click out of something.  The screen wouldn't close, though.  And that's how I saw what I saw.

I freaked out, but with an absolutely quiet and calm mind.  It was truly an interesting experience as far as that goes.  I remember thinking, 'This is completely unaccetable.  He's broken his word AGAIN.  He's lied to me.  And he's doing THIS!  It will not happen again.  I must show him how completely and utterly unacceptible this is.  I must DO something.  What can I do?'  All of that flashed through my mind in a matter of seconds because I know in physical reality I moved seamlessly from seeing, to screaming the question, "What are you doing?" at least three times, to pulling one of the speakers out of the computer, carefully putting Beauty Baby down on the floor and then I proceeded to bash the speaker, swinging it by it's cord, into the floor to smash it to smithereens.  I stopped only when I was certain it was in numerous pieces.  I proceeded to pull the other speaker from the computer and doing again to it what I'd done to the first.

I know exactly what I looked like.  I could hear him thinking that I was in a black rage - the kind of rage during which you black out and cannot remember things you did.  I had a couple of those as a teen, so I DO know about them from experience.  This was NOT that.  I remember all of everything I thought and did with a kind of clarity that is uncommon to me even in my daily life.  He did, in fact, accuse me of being in a black rage during the beating of the speakers, so I know when I felt him think it that he actually DID think it.

What followed the speaker's mutilation?  Oddly and surprisingly (to me), Beauty Man stood up from where he'd been sitting (it occurred to me just now that he probably needed that time to lose an erection :( grrr.), slammed the computer screen to the ground, and proceeded to stomp on it.  I stood back and felt a measure of pleasure that he would destroy that which he had used to sin and cheat on me with.  I also felt an increase in anger because he was destroying the tool I used and needed to complete work for the work-for-money job HE wanted me to do.

When he was finished stomping, we yelled back and forth.  He told me if I ever acted like that again, he would take the children and drive.  I told him he would never get the chance.  I feel certain that in those moments I sealed off a portion of my self and my heart to him.  I don't think he'll notice the difference... or care, if he notices.

I must take a break.